


The Muse

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Death, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is an artist, hopelessly in love with his husband and his muse, Kurt Hummel. But when a tragedy takes his muse away, how will he find the strength to go on?</p><p>A ghost story with a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sebastian hated working over his vacations. Wasn’t the point of being an artist that e got to make his own hours, work alone, and spend as much time at home having all sorts of wild and crazy sex with his gorgeous husband?

Not this time, apparently. No sir-ee. Since City Hall decided to do a complete renovation, including all original artwork from renowned local artists, he had been stuck in meetings and consultations nearly all week while his beautiful Kurt spent long hours occupying himself at their vacation home just outside the city. Kurt said he didn’t mind, seeing as they were doing some renovations themselves, and being alone gave Kurt the opportunity to match fabric to color swatches in peace.

But Sebastian had enough of forgoing noon sex in favor of another discussion with regard to whether or not a Monet inspired acrylic painting of water lilies would be appropriate for the treasurer’s office or not.

Sebastian snuck out quietly when a heated argument over abstract public sculptures for the main road islands broke out, grabbing a blank canvas in the guise of starting a raw sketch, and slipped away under the cover of his silver Mustang. Sebastian hit the interstate and sped all the way home, making it to the tiny summer home in record time.

Sebastian loved how quiet and secluded it was in this, their small patch of heaven. The seclusion was perfect because no one ever complained about their loud sex, and the quiet was ideal for finding Kurt, since he sang almost all the time when he was alone.

Sebastian stood still, but he could hear no singing. Kurt’s Navigator was parked outside so he knew his husband was home. He ran through the rooms, the blank canvas tucked beneath his arm, obnoxiously making as much noise as possible to alert his husband of his arrival.

“Kurt!” Sebastian called, walking through the vacant kitchen quickly in search of his muse. “Kurt! I need your sweet ass!”

“I thought you had to work this afternoon.”

“I _am_ working,” Sebastian explained. “I’m doing a portrait of a gorgeous man, as soon as I find him.”

“No,” Kurt chuckled. “You’re supposed to be doing a landscape for the new city planner’s office.”

“No,” Sebastian insisted, inspecting another empty room. “I’m painting you. Naked if I have my way.”

“You just want to fuck,” Kurt teased.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Sebastian growled suggestively. “Now, where the hell are you? This house isn’t that big.”

“Out here,” Kurt called back. “I’m installing the new track lighting.”

Sebastian turned the corner to the patio that they had just added on to give Sebastian a protected outdoor work space and there was Kurt – his intrepid Kurt – braving their fifty year old rickety ladder to install a row of lights with a chrome runner and bonnets. Sebastian winced when he saw the ladder shift and tilt beneath Kurt’s weight, but Kurt seemed oblivious, balancing precariously on his toes to screw the fixture to the wall.

“I really wish you’d let me do that, gorgeous,” Sebastian said, trying to hide the concern in his voice. He put the canvas down and held the ladder secure beneath his husband. “I mean, look at you reaching up like that. I am taller than you.”

“Sebastian,” Kurt admonished, looking down with playful blue eyes, “spraying your hair until it stands up to oblivion doesn’t count as you being taller than me.”

At that moment, Kurt moved sideways and the ladder lurched. Sebastian reached out in time to keep Kurt from toppling head first into the retaining wall.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Sebastian said, pulling on Kurt’s leg. “Get down now.”

“But, I only have one screw left.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian said, this time more firmly. “Get your ass down off that ladder now.”

“Geez,” Kurt huffed, climbing down the rungs. “You certainly have a thing for my ass.”

“Well, it happens to be a perfect ass.” Sebastian grabbed Kurt’s ass and squeezed for emphasis. “And I don’t want anything happening to it.”

Sebastian pulled Kurt close, relishing the way his body fit perfectly against his own, like Kurt was carved out of the same piece of stone - like they were made for each other.

“So, you only care about my ass?” Kurt asked, gazing up at Sebastian, tilting his head and pouting in mock offense.

“Among other things.” Sebastian captured Kurt’s lips quickly, not waiting for an invitation, trying his best to kiss the teasing pout from Kurt’s lips.

If Kurt’s whimpers were any indication, Sebastian was winning.

The sound of Sebastian’s cell phone ringing called a foul on his game.

“Um, you should probably get that,” Kurt tried to say, his voice muffled by Sebastian’s lips pressing insistently against his.

“Nope,” Sebastian replied.

“But, it’s probably city hall, wondering where their painter is.” Kurt laughed when he finally managed to pull away.

Sebastian huffed, narrowing his eyes as his expression became resolute.

“I’m going to answer that, just long enough to tell them to fuck off, and then I’m getting you naked.”

Sebastian peppered Kurt’s cheeks with kisses to a symphony of his giggles, then with a heavy handed swat to his backside, Sebastian reluctantly released his husband and raced inside to answer the phone.

Sebastian reached the phone just as it stopped ringing.

“Oh, no,” Sebastian whined jokingly. “I didn’t get here in time. Whatever shall I do?”

It didn’t matter to him anyway, since no power on heaven or earth could have convinced him to leave his husband just as he was preparing to ravish him.

Sebastian heard an odd noise, nothing too foreboding, but it somehow managed to fill him from head to toe with dread. He didn’t know how he could feel the ladder tilt from all the way in the kitchen, but the sensation was like a taut line tugging at his heart. He felt the sway as if he was standing on it instead of Kurt. After that swoop of sudden inexplicable nausea hit him, everything happened absurdly fast, as if the universe was saying, “Fuck you, Sebastian Smythe! I don’t believe in second chances.”

He heard Kurt yelp, then a loud metallic clatter, and a horrifying crack, like pottery hitting the pavement.

“Kurt!” Sebastian screamed in panic, having the sense of mind to grab his phone and start dialing 9-1-1, knowing in his heart that his husband would need an ambulance. “Kurt, honey! Are you al…”

Sebastian got his answer the minute he broke through the patio door.

No, Kurt wasn’t alright.

Kurt definitely wasn’t alright.

It rained the whole day when they buried Kurt. It was such a change from the weeks of perfect weather, and Kurt had mentioned how they needed a good, all day rain storm to force them inside where they could snuggle together on the sofa and just listen to the drops fall. Kurt was a quintessential pluviophile – he found peace in the rain.

Sebastian hated the rain. He hated getting wet. He hated when his soaked clothes stuck to his skin and the dripping cold water ran down into his socks. He hated the sloshing inside his shoes, and the way they never completely dried. But as much as he hated the rain, he was a pluviophile for Kurt.

He loved Kurt, and the rain made Kurt happy.

So Sebastian stood beside Kurt’s casket beside his open grave and waited in the rain. He waited while the mourners paid their respects. He waited while everyone hugged and cried. He waited until the final acquaintance had wondered somberly away. He waited until they lowered Kurt into the ground, and even after there was nothing left to witness, he waited until nightfall, when the clouds parted and the stars came out.

Burt Hummel returned a little before midnight in search of his missing son-in-law, but Sebastian still refused to leave. So Burt waited with him, even though Sebastian was sopping wet, stifling sniffles that he knew would bloom into a full-blown cold.

At some point Sebastian finally convinced himself that Kurt wasn’t going to magically return, so he took Burt’s hand and let himself be led away from his husband forever.

Sebastian’s forehead burned with fever by the time Burt got him back to the little summer house that was no longer a home, but Sebastian wouldn’t let Burt stay. And as much as Burt objected, as much as he put up a fight, in the end he didn’t have the strength to battle his own grief and Sebastian’s, and he left the man alone.

Sebastian walked through the dark house, straight out back to the patio, struck by a morbid sense of déjà vu. He sat down heavily on the wicker chaise and looked up at the clear sky, but his vision of the stars was obscured by something shiny hanging just a few feet above his head.

The light fixture.

The stupid track lighting.

Sebastian gazed up at it in shock as it dangled on its two screws.

The fixture was here, perfect and installed except for one damn screw, but because of it, Kurt was dead.

Sebastian snapped.

He looked around in a panic, spotting an abandoned hoe over by the retaining wall, not a few feet from where Kurt had fallen. Sebastian grabbed it, and with a renewed vigor, he attacked the lights.

“God damned mother fucking lights!” he screamed. “What the fuck did we need these for, Kurt? Why did you have to put them up when I asked you to wait! Why didn’t you wait, Kurt? Why couldn’t you just sit on your fucking ass and wait!?”

The sound of the hoe hitting the lights and the brick behind it resonated. The force caused the gardening implement to vibrate painfully in Sebastian’s hands, but he only tightened his grip and struck harder.

“Fuck you, Kurt! Why did you have to put up these God damned lights!” Sebastian shattered the bulbs sending a spray of fine glass particles falling all over his hair and clothes. “I told you to wait! I told you I’d do it! I didn’t need the lights! I need you, Kurt!”

He destroyed the lights, and managed to chip a good portion of the brick out of the wall as well. He stumbled back into the house, rifling through the cabinets for a bottle of whiskey, tossing aside already empty bottles until his hand came in contact with one that felt mostly full, and he pulled it down. Except this bottle wasn’t a spare bottle of Jack. It was Kurt’s solitary bottle of tequila.

Sebastian’s first urge was to toss the bottle up against the wall. He looked around him for an open space to toss it when he caught sight of the paintings. A brand new crop of paintings he had started working on for a new show in the fall – all of them featuring his muse…all of them featuring Kurt. He took a long swig of the tequila to steady his nerves, and with his body burning hot and fire in his veins, he grabbed up the paintings, every last one he could find. He carried them outside, dropping them into an undignified pile on the bare earth. He doused them all with the tequila, gritting his teeth as the golden liquid violated the paint, in some cases causing it to bleed down the canvas. When the bottle was just about drained, he rummaged through his pockets for his silver Zippo. He flipped it open with a click, a small orange flame springing to life. Sebastian tossed the lighter into the pile. The flame barely touched the heap before the whole thing went up in a blaze.

“There Kurt,” Sebastian grumbled bitterly, his throat raw from screaming and alcohol, “was it worth it? Were the Goddamned lights worth it? It’s done. All of it. No more muse…no more you…no more paintings. I’m done.”

Sebastian slowly drained the rest of the tequila while he watched the love of his life and all of his work devoured by flame.

Already weak from being tired and sick, Sebastian drank himself to sleep. It seemed like too much work to trudge back to the house and climb into bed, so he lay down on the hard packed earth next to the destroyed canvases that still managed to maintain a slow burn. Everything smelled of acrid smoke and Sebastian hoped that it would seep into his skin and suffocate his brain. Or maybe an errant cinder would jump onto his alcohol soaked clothes and he would burn to death in his sleep. Maybe a sudden temperature drop would freeze him to the ground where he lay. Either way, without Kurt, his bed wasn’t his bed, his home wasn’t a home, and Sebastian wished more than anything that he could just find the quickest and most efficient way to die.

Sebastian had hoped that he would black out, surrender to oblivion where time passed by but he would have no memory of it, but he had no such luck. Locked into sleep, he had the same dream, over and over, of Kurt falling from the ladder, and no matter what Sebastian did, no matter how fast he ran, no matter if he never went into the house to answer the phone, Kurt still died.

This was an absolute. It never changed.

At some point before dawn, Sebastian heard a rustle like footfalls in the dirt, and he struggled through the fog in his brain to open his eyes. If he was going to be mauled by coyotes, or even a mountain lion, he wanted to know. But what he saw was a man, at least what looked like a man, and a beautiful man at that, approaching the pile slowly as if a sick, drunk, and urine smelling Sebastian wasn’t lying in a heap just a few feet away. The man bent over the pile of burnt canvases, a shaking hand pressed to his lips, and a small, pained gasp escaped his mouth.

Sebastian had an overwhelming urge to reach out to the man, to apologize for setting the paintings on fire, but for what reason, he couldn’t explain. Sebastian groaned, trying to form words with his dry, sticky mouth. He rolled slightly, blinking his eyes to get a better look at his paintings’ solitary mourner, but when he opened his eyes again, the man was gone.

Sebastian was awoken again after sunrise by the sound of laughter. It broke through the haze of his alcohol and fever-induced stupor. It was high-pitched and familiar. It sounded like heaven and home and the future Sebastian had always dreamed of having, even back in those days when Kurt was dating Blaine and they could barely stand to be around each other. It was all a game back then, and it was a fun game to play…until it wasn’t. Until he realized that he didn’t want to play games any more.

He just wanted Kurt.

Sebastian opened his eyes and rolled his head in search of it, training his eyes back on the house and the patio that he planned to tear out brick by brick by hand as soon as he was physically able. Somewhere in the midst of his pounding headache and the fog that refused to lift he saw piercing blue eyes – blue like the sky in summer – staring back at him from behind a golden hibiscus. It was in that exact spot that Sebastian had planned his painting; the one he had rushed home to start. A painting of Kurt, lounging on a chaise in front of the fireplace with the golden hibiscus behind him, catching the highlights in his hair.

Sebastian sat up too quickly in hopes of seeing who the eyes belonged to, but his head started to swim, his stomach lurched, and before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting violently all over the ground.

Sebastian heaved until there was nothing left in him. He looked back at the house with watery eyes but this time he saw nothing. He got a glimpse of himself, black Armani suit stained with dirt and vomit, and knew that if Kurt could see him, he would tear him a new one. So slowly, ever so slowly, and with that thought lodged in his mind, he crawled back to the house on his hands and knees. He still burned with fever, but his head began to clear, and even as small pebbles cut into his hands he continued to crawl, distracting himself by considering his options.

By the time he made it to the patio, his decision seemed pretty clear.

Sebastian didn’t want to live, not without Kurt, and even though he could hear the voices of his family and friends trying to convince himself otherwise, his mind was made up.

He would settle his affairs.

He would make sure his immediate family who always loved him, who always supported him, who loved Kurt like one of their own, was provided for.

He would finish his commissions, complete his obligations.

And when the houses were put up on the market, and all was said and done, he would find the quickest, foolproof, and most surefire way of being reunited with his husband again.


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian spent five days fighting his fever, barely able to move, completely unable to keep anything down, and he relished it. It gave him something to think about besides the inevitable. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t get better, and that the illness would do his job for him. Sometimes he slept so deeply, he thought he was dead, but instead of a peaceful eternity spent with Kurt, there was just nothing.

That scared him the most…

…because if there was nothing to return to after death, his Kurt wasn’t just gone in the physical sense. It meant that he no longer existed, and after just seven short years of a life spent together he would never see his beloved husband again.

On the sixth day he had enough. His legs trembled and his insides still threatened to turn him inside out with every step he took, but he didn’t care. It was time to get started.

Sebastian decided not to look at his phone. He wasn’t going to check his texts or messages. He could care less if city hall called with new ideas for his painting. They had paid him in advance They would get what they got from him and like it. So what if they threatened to sue him? He’d like to see them try.

The painting was supposed to be a dramatic landscape view from a hilltop just east of the county where they lived. He had planned to drive up there and map out the land, do some preliminary sketches, gauge his perspective.

 _Fuck that,_ he thought. _I’m just going to wing it._

He and Kurt had driven all over that town in Sebastian’s little red Mustang convertible. He pretty much knew the place by heart. He knew where all the roads led. He knew the dips and curves that passed beneath the oak trees. He knew where the creek crossed the old cow road, and the trails that led up the hillsides.

He and Kurt had made love along most of those roads: in the back seat of his car, parked hidden from view, even lying out on the grass under the sun on one or two more adventurous occasions.

One time in the rain.

Sebastian sighed. He pulled out a canvas and dropped it unceremoniously onto his easel.

This wasn’t going to be his best work.

Far from it, as a matter of fact.

But why put one hundred percent into it? If you’ve seen one stinking landscape you’ve seen them all. As long as it was good enough for the hospitality industry, it would be fine.

Sebastian barely regarded the canvas before he started dropping paint on it, haphazardly in some cases, not even noticing when the grass bled up into the sky too far on one side, or how the hill looked more like a humpbacked snake than a majestic hillside. In his head he could hear Kurt chuckling, that cute way he snorted when laughing got the best of him and he couldn’t stop. Sebastian smirked at the thought of Kurt standing beside him, teasing him; of how he would shut him up by reaching out an acrylic stained hand and threatening his favorite Alexander McQueen.

“Sebastian Smythe!” Kurt would screech. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Sebastian would quip, and very soon the painting would be abandoned, Sebastian chasing after Kurt throughout the house, leaping over furniture and dodging wayward canvases along the way. Kurt would race outside, imaging that the open stretch of land would give him the advantage, but he would start stripping off his precious shirt along the way, knowing he would get caught.

Kurt was always more athletic than Sebastian sometimes gave him credit for. Sebastian often wondered if Kurt let him catch up on purpose.

Eventually the chase would lead back into the house, the shirt discarded carefully on an obliging chair, and Sebastian would win – he always won. He’d grab Kurt around the waist, and drag his body back against his, panting and flushed and hot and simply perfect in every way.

Paint would be everywhere by the time they were done making love – sticking to Kurt’s hair where Sebastian had run his fingers through it; long stripes streaking the wood boards where Sebastian had raked his nails along the floor, grabbing for purchase; a rainbow of fingerprints all over Kurt’s pale skin, down his chest where Sebastian traced the outlines of his muscles, around his wrists where Sebastian pinned him down, curling over his hips where Sebastian held him securely against him.

Sebastian stopped daydreaming when he felt the tears prick his eyes and fall. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his work shirt, blinking away the memories of an afternoon spent lying in a colorful mess on the floor, Kurt rolling over onto Sebastian’s body to make a masterpiece of his own.

Sebastian looked at his painting, prepared to mock the mess he had made, picturing the travesty of having this worthless piece of shit hanging at city hall, but he stopped…and he stared. His pallet slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor, spattering his shoes and marring the wood.

Gone was the bleeding paint and the humpback snake.

Gone was the mess and the senseless splatter.

At some point during his musings he had fixed the painting. It had changed from monstrosity to memory, a vivid one at that, of the rolling hillside in spring, wildflowers dotting the grass, the sun just a suggestion in the quality of the light and the shadows it threw. If he had been trying for perfection, consciously attempting to make a painting that conveyed the feeling of beauty and the promise of new life, he would never have been able to come close. But the recognition of his own exceptional technique wasn’t what drew his eye; it was the stretch of road in the distance, and on it a candy apple red Mustang rolling through the hillside with its top down, and two passengers inside. Sebastian assumed he was the one driving but the man in the driver’s seat was most definitely Kurt, turning to wave over his shoulder, an overjoyed smile on his face.

He looked so happy; so extremely carefree.

He looked so real.

Sebastian reached out a hand, fingertips hovering over the paint where Kurt’s face looked up at him.

_Honk, honk._

Sebastian jumped at the sound of a car horn in his driveway, but once the surprised subsided, it turned to annoyance. The idea that someone who couldn’t get him by phone had driven all the way out to his house infuriated him.

Sebastian left the painting on its easel and stomped through the house.

_Honk, honk._

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you stupid motherfucker!” Sebastian screamed. “You’re so important you can’t even get out of your fucking car and ring the Goddamned bell!”

“Come on, Sebastian,” a lyrical voice called. “Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

Sebastian stopped cold in his tracks. He tried to swallow back the bile that had risen to his mouth at the sound of that voice, but he couldn’t. For long seconds, for what seemed like forever, he couldn’t make himself move.

_Honk, honk._

“Sebastian!”

That was his impetus to move.

“Kurt?” Sebastian breathed, running for the door.

He couldn’t believe he was saying it, like Kurt would actually be there.

He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it was a possibility.

But there he was, racing for the door, hoping against hope of what he would see once he opened it.

_Honk, ho -_

The sound cut off when the door flew open, and for a second – no, what’s less than a second? – Sebastian heard just the hint of a laugh and saw a flash of blue eyes sitting in the passenger seal of his uncovered Mustang.

A Mustang he kept covered 24/7.

Sebastian stood in the doorway, trying to reconcile exactly what he was looking at.

A car. It was just a car. Nothing supernatural or special about it.

Sebastian stepped slowly outside and looked closer at it, examining it in hopes of finding an answer as to why a car he barely drove had been honking on its own, and how a cover that had fit snuggly for most of the year had suddenly blown off.

Sebastian’s eyes searched the drive, the house, and the field beyond, looking for some sign that someone, some stupid neighbor’s kid, had been pulling pranks. He took a moment to cover the Mustang again, hoping that concentrating on something other than the thought of Kurt standing in the driveway honking the horn would stop his hands from shaking.

Sebastian took one final look around before retreating back to the house, double-locking the door behind him, feeling ridiculous when he did. He returned to the painting, to the peaceful hillside and the happy couple in the car driving off into the sunset. A sudden revulsion filled him. It was too much.

He grabbed a small bottle of paint thinner and doused the painting, watching the colors run and drip, the happy couple in their little red car smear down the canvas and disappear. He watched until the beautiful picturesque hillside was reduced to nothing more than a sloppy mess. Then he turned his back on his memories and went back to bed.

***

_“Sebastian! Are you going to wash my back or not?”_

_“Hold up, babe! I’m…uh…doing something…”_

_“What are you…oh, God! Tell me you’re not masturbating again!”_

_“Ha!”_

_“You know, my love, I’m pretty sure you’re going to wear that thing out with over use!”_

_“Never!”_

_“Then what are you…Sebastian! Are you sketching me!? I’m in the shower!”_

_“I know, gorgeous. That’s why I’m sketching you.”_

_“But, I’m naked, Sebastian! And I…wait a minute…it can’t be that big, can it?”_

_“Yup.”_

_“For real?”_

_“Yup.”_

_“Are you…”_

_“Kurt…I just spent an hour with your cock in my mouth. I think I know how big it is.”_

_“Oh…well…continue on, then…”_

Sebastian woke to the sound of his own laughing in his sleep. He felt so light, so happy. He laughed so hard that tears leaked from his eyes and he shook his head as he began to wake. The more conscious of his current surroundings he became, the more aware he was of two things: a strange grainy feeling on his fingertips, and a muted sound of falling water.

Sebastian sighed.

It was raining again.

Sebastian forced his eyes open, curious as to the substance that covered his skin. His sketch pad and a charcoal pencil lay beside him on the bed. Somehow he had been drawing in his sleep. He smirked. It was unusual, but it had happened before. He looked down at the drawing, crudely drawn, but amazingly still one of his best. He blinked some more in an attempt to identify the subject, and even though it shot a cold arrow into his chest he was somehow not surprised.

He had drawn Kurt taking a shower, hands tangling in his hair, steam rising around his body, a small half-smile on his lips at the thought of being watched.

Sebastian loved that smile.

He always got so lost in that smile.

He got lost in it now; so lost that he barely remembered the rain…but not rain he began to realize as the memory started to dissolve and Sebastian’s mind started to wake.

Not the rain…the shower.

And above the thread of the sound of falling water he heard another clear and glorious sound.

The sound of someone humming.

Sebastian bolted from his bed. It had to be real this time. There couldn’t be any doubt. The bathroom was only a few feet away from the bed where he lay. He could hear the water – and the humming – as clear as day. Sebastian raced into the bathroom, the air thick with steam, the mirrors covered in a layer of condensation. His heart leapt as the sound of humming became louder, and then a telltale giggle.

“Sebastian! I…”

Sebastian threw the curtains open and everything stopped.

No water.

The steam gone.

The mirrors clear and dry.

He stood stock still, staring, mouth agape at an empty shower of cream-colored tile.

Sebastian was caught between emotions, a desire to howl in anger welling up in his chest, and the beginning of a complete nervous breakdown.

With a loud growl he tore down the shower curtain, resorting to yelling, feeling it best if he stayed sane a little longer.

He stormed through the bathroom, pulling the mirrors off the wall, tossing bottles left and right, at one point he even punched the tile, cracking the porcelain and cutting his hand.

The sharp stab of pain drew his attention and he stopped. He stared down at his bleeding hand, his chest burning as he fought to slow his breathing. He stood among the wreckage of the master bath and sighed. So much anger. So much useless destruction. None of it was going to bring Kurt back.

Sebastian stumbled out to the kitchen, past the wasted pallet on the floor, past the painting that still dripped acrylic, and made his way to the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand beneath, head bowed over the silver basin, watching the remains of blood drip away. He felt his eyes drift closed as the stinging water somehow managed to soothe him, and for a moment he could imagine Kurt draping an arm around him, fussing over him, kissing his temples, massaging his neck, telling him everything would be alright.

Sebastian fumbled for the faucet handle with his eyes still closed, and as the water shut off, in the silence, Sebastian heard a sigh that was not his own.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted Kurt back, but he was done seeing ghosts.

He wanted it all to end.

“Paint it,” he heard a quiet voice say.

When Sebastian opened his eyes, the flash of blue he knew had been there was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The voice had said, “Paint it.”

Now, Sebastian just had to remember what he wanted to paint.

An ending.

That’s what he had thought right before he heard that silent command.

He wanted it all to end.

So that was the secret, then. He would paint an ending to it all – _his_ ending. How this all plays out, starting with Kurt dying, and then…well, however Sebastian thought to do himself in. He hadn’t really given it any thought.

Sebastian returned to his easel. He tossed the ruined canvas aside and replaced it with a longer one, one with enough room to paint a multiple panel work. He collected up his pallet, not even worrying about the mess of paint on the floor, satisfied enough with the state of the acrylics that were left. He picked up a brush, not particularly concerned with whether it was camel hair or synthetic, medium tip or broad, and held it poised over the swirling sea of tacky paint. He had to choose the color that would tie in the overall theme, which he figured would be relatively easy.

He was painting a triptych of his own death. He would start with black or red.

But when he tried to dip the brush into one of those two colors, he found the brush called somewhere else. He gritted his teeth and tried again with the same frustrating result. He moved to swirl the dry bristles into the red, but the brush was pulled to the blue.

“Fine,” he growled, pulling up a huge dollop of Ultramarine Blue and hurled it at the canvas, letting the paint drop carelessly with an obscene sounding sploitch, watching as the hulking mass crawled down the canvas.

_“Well, that’s mature,” Kurt said, watching as Sebastian put the finishing touches on his latest painting. “I don’t think the gallery is going to want that one.”_

_“I don’t care,” Sebastian returned, not bothering to look at his husband standing by his side. “It makes me feel better.”_

_“A painting of us barbecuing the neighbor’s dog?” Kurt asked, tilting his head to the side to take in the vivid imagery of a smug Sebastian, dressed in a toque and a gingham apron that said “Kiss the Cook” across the front, tongs raised triumphantly, and in its metal grip, the charred leg of Roy and Sylvia Harding’s Airedale Terrier._

_“You know, I would think you would have more sympathy. The motherfucker bit me,” Sebastian griped, indicating his bandaged hand._

_“You bit him back!” Kurt chuckled. “I think that makes you even.”_

_“I don’t,” Sebastian moaned quietly._

_Kurt inched closer to the painting, appreciating quietly all the detail Sebastian had put in – the grain in the wood of the red washed picnic table; the springy hair on the carcass of the dead dog; even Kurt’s own ensemble of capris pants and a tailored Marc Jacobs shirt, with his signature hippo broach attached to the collar._

_Sebastian watched his husband’s eyes as they traveled over the artwork, his lip pinched between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration. Kurt turned his head suddenly, blushing at being caught admiring his husband’s handiwork on such a gruesome painting._

_Owing to love, knowledge, and familiarity, added with a dash of the fact that after so many years of sharing the same heart and the same mind they often thought alike, both men moved in at the exact same time for the kiss that seemed to linger in the air waiting for them to experience it._

_Kurt gave a sidelong look at the painting and chuckled when he noticed how close his face was to a screaming and horrified Sylvia Harding, rending her clothes in an expression of her grief._

_“Okay, I’ve got to get away from this thing,” Kurt said. He ducked his head and caught a glimpse of Sebastian’s bandaged hand, a spot of red blossoming on the wrapping._

_“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, taking Sebastian’s hand in his and starting to undo the gauze. “We have to rewrap this so it doesn’t get infected.” Kurt tutted disapprovingly. “I wish you would just let me take you to the hospital.”_

_“Why?” Sebastian asked, putting down his pallet and wrapping an arm around Kurt’s waist, pulling him close, “When I’ve got you here to play nurse?”_

_Sebastian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively while Kurt pulled a face of mock horror._

_“Come on, Kurt,” Sebastian whispered. “I think I need to undress so you can take my vitals.”_

_Kurt threw his head back and laughed. Then he kissed Sebastian on the mouth, chuckling when his husband released him to undo the buttons of his shirt one-handed._

_“You know,” Kurt chuckled against Sebastian’s lips, “it really is an excellent painting.”_

Sebastian stepped back to view his work, but once again what had started out as one thing changed into another. He had painted several paintings within a painting – an image of Sebastian standing and staring at a painting with Kurt by his side, staring at a painting of Sebastian staring at the same painting with Kurt by his side, standing and staring at the same painting on and on for infinity. In the painting, Sebastian wore the same clothes he did now, his hair sticking up at all angles, his pallet dangling from his hand with the paint swirled together in a blotchy mess. Sebastian regarded the painting closely, his heart suddenly racing. If Kurt was standing just a bit behind him and to the right in all these paintings, could that possible mean…

Sebastian jumped at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. He turned just as a face closed in on his; cool, soft lips pressing gently against his mouth. Sebastian’s heart stopped when the face pulled away and Sebastian caught sight of those blue eyes that he missed more with every passing day.

Kurt was perfect, his ethereal beauty completely intact, just as Sebastian remembered. Kurt smiled, a brief hint of sorrow shifting his features.

“It really is an excellent painting,” he said, motioning to the artwork with a nod of his chin.

Sebastian looked back at the image, the two of them together, stretching on into the future for what seemed like an eternity, and Sebastian smiled. He turned back to Kurt, excited to impart what might just be a revelation…but Kurt was gone.

Sebastian spent the next three days at his easel. He barely ate, he didn’t sleep. All he did was paint. He started back from the beginning, when he and Kurt first met, petty high school students bickering over the same boy. Sebastian painted the way Kurt’s eyes met his, and the smug grin that spread like wildfire over his own features when he thought ruffling his feathers by stealing his pretty boyfriend would be so much fun.

He painted a young Kurt performing at Regionals, and those say something hips that never failed to capture Sebastian’s imagination.

He painted the phone call they shared after Blaine cheated on Kurt, Kurt on one side of the country and Sebastian on the other. He painted every phone call after, on a large wall-sized canvas in multiple panels, changing their features as each other changed and grew, and on their respective ring fingers, faint at first but becoming darker as time passed by and they fell in love, a single red thread that connected them, one to the other.

During the course of the next few days, Sebastian went through all of his acrylics, and had to call in a favor to another local artist to get more. While he waited for his shipment to arrive, he sketched. He went through sketch pad after sketch pad, finally resorting to paper from his printer, and after that, recycled newspapers. He painted and sketched their entire life together, and when he was done, when the final painting was set aside to dry, he waited for something to happen. Anything. A voice. A giggle.

Another kiss.

Sebastian climbed into bed, his muscles sore and aching, his eyes crossed from exhaustion. He fell asleep waiting, and awoke the next morning to the sun warming his face, his skin and clothes thoroughly stained, and his husband nowhere to be seen.

He felt like a fool. He had made it all up in his mind. He had indulged in this fantasy for far too long, missed his deadline, and pushed aside his plans.

Well, not any more.

Sebastian knew what he needed to do. He had a bottle of Xanax, a bottle of Halcion, and two bottles of vodka.

With any luck, it would be quick and easy and painless.

He stumbled into the living room, littered literally from floor to ceiling with pictures of Kurt, paintings of Kurt, charcoal sketches on every possible surface, moving to the walls when he ran out of paper and his replacement paints and canvases had not yet arrived. There were so many images of Kurt throughout the room that Sebastian almost missed him, wandering through the paintings, fingers hovering over the drawings, tracing over the outlines of his own face. Sebastian stopped just inches from him on his way to the kitchen, but stopped short at the intense look in his shimmering blue eyes.

Kurt still looked ethereal, but he also looked real.

“They’re beautiful,” Kurt gasped, looking around him in awe. “Every single one is just beautiful.”

Sebastian felt himself choke. This had to be a dream, because the reality was too fantastic to believe. But Kurt’s eyes looked sad, and Sebastian didn’t understand why.

“Are you really here?” Sebastian asked. “Or are you just going to haunt me forever?”

“Do you want me to?” Kurt asked, eyebrow quirked as he waited patiently for an answer.

Sebastian nodded even before an answer could make its way past his lips.

“I want you here,” Sebastian said. “I need you, Kurt. I need you. I need you to come back to me.”

Kurt turned and looked at the paintings, looked at the drawings and smiled.

“You painted my past, Sebastian,” Kurt said, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush across the image of Kurt and Sebastian together, locked in an embrace, eyes closed as they kissed, caught up in their own little world as parents with children and park vendors raced by, eager to get out of the sudden torrential downpour. Even Sebastian had to admit that it looked so real, he could almost see the people move, the children struggling to be free, the way Kurt’s lips moved against his.

It was one of his greatest masterpieces.

It was an epic kiss.

Their first kiss.

“Paint my future,” Kurt explained, his image already beginning to fade, “and you can have me.”

Sebastian shook his head, exhaustion and desperation turning to anger. He had painted for three days straight just to have Kurt, and now here he was, disappearing again because he hadn’t done enough.

“No,” Sebastian said stubbornly. “Do you know what you’ve already put me through?”

Sebastian was screaming, even though he really didn’t mean to. He was lost and lonely, and felt like he was going crazy. He was standing in the center of what could easily be labeled the creepiest memorial to his dead husband ever, arguing with a ghost. But none of that mattered, because Sebastian was tired of waiting; tired of being tested and taunted. He had a future planned for him and Kurt, and he was ready to get back to it.

“You’re here now, and all I want is you. I don’t care if I never paint again. I don’t _want_ to paint. All I want is you.”

Kurt shook his head, backing away, his body becoming more and more faint with every step.

Sebastian panicked. He rushed over to Kurt with purpose and determination set in his blood-shot green eyes, jaw clenched, ready to claim back his life and his husband, but just as Sebastian reached Kurt, he dissolved before Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian stood alone in the mid-morning air, listening as the rest of the world sprang to life outside – birds singing, insects chirping - not realizing that for the moment Kurt was there everything had been quiet, like time had stopped. But now it marched back on with absolutely no concern at all for Sebastian’s frustration and pain.

“Fine,” Sebastian said, a scowl darkening his features. “If that’s the way you’re going to be about it, princess, then we’ll play this game your way.”

Sebastian put a blank canvas on his easel and grabbed a different pallet. This pallet contained various bright oils – a medium he wasn’t all too fond of, but he didn’t want to waste time rummaging through his acrylics for the colors he needed when this one was so readily available. Besides, Sebastian considered oils a bitch to work with. It seemed only fitting.

Sebastian didn’t even take a moment to regard the canvas, to try and search out the painting hiding within. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Kurt, in his bed, gloriously naked and panting with want, skin flushed with desire, writhing against the sheets as he dreamed of Sebastian joining him beneath the covers and relieving him of his agony.

Sebastian attacked the canvas, and not just with a brush. He moved through the paint with his fingers as he defined the muscular lines of Kurt’s arms. He cut through the oil with his pallet knife, giving depth and dimension to the comforter on the bed. He touched and sliced, moved and manipulated, the colors blending till what he had once intended to be a simple portrait of his husband lying in bed became the culmination of all his passions, bleeding through his pores, coursing from his fingertips, burning in his eyes. Unlike his other paintings which sometimes took a matter of hours, this one he worked on all day. He never noticed when the sun began to sink into the horizon, and the room became dark. He knew Kurt’s body so well he could paint it with his eyes closed.

And the image was perfect – Kurt’s alabaster skin glowing against a frame of red satin sheets, plump lips parted, hooded eyes searching, his arm outstretched, pointing to where Sebastian stood beside his masterpiece.

Sebastian stared at the painting, and the more he looked, the more he could swear that Kurt’s image was actually breathing.

Sebastian set his pallet down and ran a grimy hand through his hair, spreading paint along with it over the chocolate-colored strands. He was worn out…breathless…almost completely spent, but one word from Kurt, his beautiful Kurt, would have sent him running to their bed.

If Kurt were really there.

If Kurt was still alive.

He touched the frame of the canvas just as a breeze spiraled through the room, carrying with it the most incredible sound.

“Sebastian,” a voice called to him. “Sebastian, when are you coming to bed?”

Sebastian wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t. A single noise, a single move, and the voice on the wind might be scared away.

But he needed to know.

“K-Kurt?” Sebastian stammered, sure that only the silence of the house would answer him.

“Sebastian,” the voice, so light, so fair, so enticing and heartbreaking and miraculous answered instead. “Please, stop painting and come to bed. You have all day to paint. We only have the night to spend together.”

Sebastian backed away from the painting, reverently gazing at it, expecting it to do something other-worldly…or maybe just disappear. But it didn’t. The painting remained, and so did Kurt.

“Sebastian Smythe! I am going to count to five and if I…”

Sebastian made it to him in three seconds, and that night, while making love to the man he thought he’d never see again, he realized something so incredible, he felt no reason to try and explain it.

He could spend the rest of his life with his husband, as long as he painted it that way.

***

“Oh, Sebastian!” Kurt whispered, clutching tightly to his husband’s arm. “They’re gorgeous! Every single one of them is your best work.”

Sebastian tried his hardest to make Kurt as inconspicuous as possible so he could accompany his husband to the gallery and see the new artwork first hand, hung and lighted, on display for a new public of enthusiasts. Kurt was dressed in head to toe black, a gorgeous Vivienne Westwood-esque suit of Sebastian’s design, his head covered in a stylish Asian-inspired silk scarf, and large Jackie O sunglasses obscuring his face. They stayed huddled close together, appearing like a normal couple to anyone who saw them. Speculation circulated quickly that Sebastian Smythe had found himself a new muse.

“You just say that because you’re in every single one of them,” Sebastian smirked.

Kurt bobbed his head from side to side as he thought.

“True, true. I do lend a certain…how do you say…sophistication to your art. I won’t lie.”

Sebastian laughed.

Sebastian walked Kurt from painting to painting, stopping long enough to examine each and every intricate detail of the individual pieces.

“How many are there?” Kurt asked, his voice exuding a healthy dose of wonder.

“Right now…about one-hundred and fifty.”

Kurt snapped his head up to look into his husband’s smug face, jaw dropped in disbelief.

“One-hundred and fifty?” Kurt smiled “That’s almost five months we get to spend together.”

“Try two and a half years,” Sebastian corrected, preening with delight at the wide-eyed stare his revelation earned him.

“Two and a half...” Kurt repeated. “But…but how?”

Sebastian escorted Kurt through a set of double doors to a large room whose walls were painted white to better display the art. The huge room held easily eighteen wall sized murals, each with a multitude of different panels depicting Sebastian and Kurt vacationing in Paris, sitting in a gondola on the water, exploring the Grand Canyon, or just ‘living’ – washing dishes, walking a dog, shopping at the supermarket…and quite a few of them making love.

Kurt was quiet – for a long time standing and staring at the next few years of his life as Sebastian had planned them, and for a moment, Sebastian started to doubt that this was what Kurt really wanted.

“Kurt?” Sebastian felt an unnerving weight settle in his chest. He didn’t want to lose Kurt. Not again. “Kurt? For the love of God, Kurt! Tell me…”

“I love them,” Kurt sniffled, turning and throwing himself into Sebastian’s arms. “I love it…all of it. Our life together. It’s beautiful.”

“You really like it?” Sebastian asked, a little overwhelmed by Kurt in his arms in a gallery surrounded by images of their future.

“I do,” Kurt replied. Sebastian wasn’t done holding him, but Kurt recovered quickly and pulled away, leading Sebastian farther in the room to examine those paintings as well.

“But, now we have to start planning farther ahead,” Kurt insisted. “I mean, where are the paintings of me sewing and designing? I fully intend on working…”

“What?” Sebastian looked dumbfounded. “How do you…”

“We’ll cross that bridge later,” Kurt said, dismissing Sebastian’s objection with the wave of his hand. “And if you get a dog, I want a cat. And I expect you to make me age gracefully…no premature balding or pot belly. I mean, you’ve seen my dad.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but he listened carefully, setting all of Kurt’s notes to memory.

“Of course, gorgeous,” Sebastian said, placing a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head, over the scarf, wishing it was Kurt’s beautiful, walnut-colored hair tickling his nose with its sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla. “But, what would you like to do now? The show doesn’t open till tomorrow. We have the whole day.”

Kurt looked around at the paintings on the walls and his lips curled into a devilish grin. He walked toward the wall to a painting in muted, neutral shades of the two of them in bed, Sebastian hovering over Kurt’s body, looking down at Kurt with lust blown eyes, occasional highlights of black and red suggesting exactly what moment of desire the painting portrayed.

“This one.” Kurt’s voice turned dark and silky, a wash of subtle seduction that made Sebastian burn to take his husband right there, right then. “I want this one.”

“You just want to fuck,” Sebastian teased, taking Kurt’s arm.

Kurt’s eyes twinkled as he pulled Sebastian to the door.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Kurt said, biting his lower lip, giving Sebastian the perfect inspiration for his next painting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write a little note at the end to clear up any confusion. I have had a lot of positive comments about this fic (thank you all by the way), but some people have been a little confused. Kurt wasn't just Sebastian's husband; he was also his muse. Kurt died, but as Sebastian's muse, as long as Sebastian creates works of art for Kurt, Kurt continues to live for Sebastian. That's why Sebastian painting Kurt's past didn't work. Sebastian needed to build him a future. I hope this clears things up a little bit. (So, no, Sebastian wasn't crazy :) Well, no more than artist's normally are. )


End file.
